


Every Step of the Way

by rockinhamburger



Series: A Universe Where Prop 8 And Other Related Homophobic State Laws Have Long Been Defeated [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinhamburger/pseuds/rockinhamburger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scenes from Blaine and Kurt's first ten years together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Step of the Way

2011

 

Blaine meets Kurt’s father for the first time in Kurt’s living room.

Kurt leads Blaine into the room by the crook of Blaine’s elbow. “Dad, this is Blaine.”

Blaine steps forward and reaches for Mr Hummel’s hand across the coffee table. “Great to finally meet you, Mr Hummel.”

Mr Hummel returns the handshake immediately. His grip is powerful and leaves Blaine with a sudden understanding of Kurt’s surprising strength. “Blaine. Nice to finally have a face to match to my son’s stories.”

Blaine laughs nervously. “Good stories, I hope?”

Mr Hummel’s expression doesn’t change. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then he moves past Blaine and Kurt and heads toward the kitchen. “You kids want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Kurt calls.

“No, thank you,” Blaine chokes out, still reeling.

Kurt and Blaine are seated on the couch when Mr Hummel returns with a glass of water for himself and, smiling at his son but not looking at Blaine, he sits down in the chair in front of the television and turns it off with a flick of the remote.

Kurt gives Blaine an encouraging smile, which is not really comforting at all. Blaine’s about to get the third-degree, he’s sure of it.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mr Hummel,” Blaine says graciously, trying not to over-do it but at the same time seem polite and appropriately boyfriend-material.

Mr Hummel just looks at Blaine with an extremely unsettling calculating gaze. Blaine quarrels with himself and determinedly does not look away. “Any hobbies?” the man asks.

Blaine seizes on the subject with vigour. “Yes! I play lacrosse for the Dalton team, and I’m yearbook editor. And – well, you know I sing with Kurt in the Warblers.”

Mr Hummel responds by taking a long sip from his water glass. He can’t possibly know how effectively he’s dashing Blaine’s attempts at dazzling the man with his extra-curricular activities. Blaine now realizes how stupid he was to think the yearbook or lacrosse would impress Kurt’s father.

Kurt has mentioned Mr Hummel’s interest in football, so Blaine takes a stab at establishing familiar ground. “I’m a really big fan of football. I follow the Buckeyes pretty religiously!” he says, inwardly cringing at his over-enthusiastic tone of voice.

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, like an angel sent to rescue Blaine from his stupid nerves. “He’s been teaching me some of the rules.”

Mr Hummel looks at Kurt as he responds. “Hm. I’ve been trying to explain the rules to you since you were four. Never seemed to stick.”

Blaine decides it’s probably best not to inform Kurt’s very large, very foreboding father that Kurt had no more understood Blaine’s explanations, especially considering the lesson in question had taken place during a particularly memorable shared shower in the Dalton locker room. Mr Hummel so does not need to know the details.

Great, now Blaine’s petrified Mr Hummel will somehow be able to read his mind and see for himself the ways in which he has sullied his only son.

Apparently finished with the third-degree (for now, anyway), Mr Hummel releases the footrest of his armchair, leans back and returns to watching the television.

Blaine turns a panicked look on Kurt, who rolls his eyes and shrugs, standing up and pulling Blaine to his feet. “Well, Dad, we’re going downstairs.”

“Door stays open,” he grunts.

As soon as they’re downstairs, Blaine sags against Kurt. “Oh my _god_ ,” he breathes. “Your dad is the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

Kurt laughs brightly. “Oh, he’s not that bad. He’s pretty friendly once you get to know him. He’s just nervous.”

“ _He’s_ nervous?” Blaine yelps, quietly, so as not to be heard through the open door at the top of the stairs. “That’s how he shows nervousness?”

“You’re not the only one who’s new to this,” Kurt says with a gentle smile, sitting down on his bed and beckoning for Blaine to join him. “Just give him some time, and he’ll be your biggest fan. Next to me, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Blaine jokes, rolling his eyes but giving into the kiss Kurt’s coaxing him into.

Kurt laughs into the kiss a few moments later. “You looked so scared up there,” he giggles.

Blaine sighs in a long-suffering manner. “You’re so mean to me.”

Kurt’s hand lands dangerously high-up on Blaine’s thigh as he smirks. “That’s a lie; I’m extremely nice,” he says, voice silky and sexy and completely irresistible.

Blaine feels himself harden. “Your – your dad’s right upstairs,” he stutters, trying not to press into the weight of Kurt’s hand, even as it moves right over the bulge in his slacks.

“Better be extra quiet, then,” Kurt murmurs, leaning in.

-

It turns out the real Spanish Inquisition has been saved for supper, and it starts just as Blaine’s taking his first bite of food.

“Are you a good student, Blaine?” Mr Hummel asks over his plate of lasagna.

“Burt,” Kurt’s step-mom admonishes lightly, placing her hand on his forearm.

“What? I can’t ask if my son’s boyfriend is a good student?”

“It’s okay,” Blaine says quickly. “I’m," he wipes his mouth on his napkin, "I'm actually on the Dean’s List at Dalton.”

“Hear that, Burt? The Dean’s List! Very impressive!” Mrs Hummel remarks.

“Blaine’s set to be valedictorian,” Kurt inputs, who is sitting across from Blaine and cutting up his food in a casual manner, as if this is no-big-deal, just any regular dinner.

“College plans?”

“Dad.” Kurt looks up and over at his father with extreme exasperation. “College plans? Really?”

“I don’t get to ask about his plans for the future?”

“Oh my god,” Kurt mumbles, looking to his step-mom for help.

She smiles. “I’m sure Blaine has many possibilities in front of him. I’m much more interested to hear if you have any brothers or sisters, Blaine.”

Blaine officially loves this woman. _Loves_. “Yeah, actually, I have an older sister, Sarah. She’s at Dartmouth studying Political Science.”

“Wow!” she says enthusiastically, eyes wide. “And what field do your parents work in, sweetie?”

Blaine abandons his plainly ridiculous notion of eating anything at all and focuses entirely on answering Mrs Hummel’s question. “Well, my father works in the financial sector, and my mother doesn’t work.” He laughs nervously. “Unless you count hosting cocktail parties as work, which she probably would.”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant to say that. Mr and Mrs Hummel are giving him looks of mingled curiosity. He’s said too much. They definitely do not need to know all the details of his oddball family.

“She’s the social elite type, so she has these boring cocktail parties every other week. It’s usually really busy at home,” he says, and then he shovels some food in his mouth to stop himself from nervously rambling on.

“Blaine’s house is crazy-huge,” Kurt informs his parents. “I’ve gotten lost every time I go there. It’s like a house out of _Gossip Girl_.”

“Have you met Blaine’s parents?” Mr Hummel asks abruptly.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Well, Blaine is right there, so feel free to ask him.”

Kurt and his father exchange a few unspoken words through hard looks, and then Mr Hummel turns to Blaine. “Has Kurt met your parents?”

“He’s met my mother,” Blaine admits, feeling inexplicably anxious about the direction the conversation’s taken, “but not my father.” At their confused looks, he adds, “My father’s not home that much.” There he goes again, blabbing away. This time he can see that the looks they’re giving him are tinged with pity, and he feels extremely uncomfortable. “He - he spends a lot of time in Manhattan, so he hasn’t been there when Kurt’s around.”

Kurt gives Blaine a small smile that’s just for him.

Now their expressions are _really_ pitying.

“It’s no big deal; he’s just really busy,” Blaine explains. For some reason, he looks at Kurt’s father as says this.

Mr Hummel sighs. “That’s no excuse.”

And now Blaine’s embarrassed.

It’s really not that bad; he stopped giving a shit a long time ago, once he realized that getting upset about his situation wasn’t going to change it. Besides, he rallies, it’s probably for the best that he’s not around that much. What would Blaine even say? ‘Thanks for coming to my birthday; this totally makes up for the fact that I haven’t seen you in nearly two months.’

Mr Hummel clears his throat. “More salad, Blaine? I'm sorry there’s no dressing on it; you can thank Kurt and my wife for that, they never let me eat anything that tastes good.”

In the corner of his vision, Blaine sees Kurt and Carole roll their eyes at each other fondly. But Blaine’s busy taking the offered salad bowl with a soft, “Thanks, Mr Hummel.”

“You can call me Burt.”

Fighting the relieved smile that’s on its way would be useless at this point, so he wears it with conviction.

He thinks he may just have won Burt’s approval; though how he managed that escapes him utterly.

 

 **2012**

 

“Come on, hurry up and unpack; I want to show you everything.”

“Okay, okay,” Blaine says with a shameless grin. He hasn’t seen Kurt in three and a half months, except over Skype, so he fully understands his boyfriend’s impatience. “You know what, I’ll unpack later; let’s go.”

“Great, awesome,” says Kurt, ushering Blaine out of his closet of a Manhattan apartment and locking the door with a flourish. “Okay, your choice: Times Square, Broadway, or Lady Liberty?”

“That’s a trick question, right?” Blaine laughs, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and swinging their arms together as they walk along the New York City streets.

“Broadway it is!” Kurt shouts triumphantly. “We’ll take the subway. It’s exciting!”

Blaine's pretty sure anything – absolutely anything – would be exciting; he’d probably ride on the back of a garbage truck if it meant he was going somewhere with Kurt.

It turns out the subway _is_ pretty exciting, but walking along Broadway ends up capping out at number three on the list of Blaine’s Favourite Memories, the first being his and Kurt’s first kiss, and the second being very much X-Rated.

“One hand in the air for the big city,” Blaine sings, pulling Kurt into an impromptu dance in the middle of the sidewalk, in broad daylight.

“Street lights, big dreams all look pretty,” Kurt sings back, swaying back and forth with Blaine to their own soundtrack.

“No place in the world that can compare,” Blaine croons, and then, with Kurt singing a delicious harmony, “Put your lighters in the air, everybody say ‘YEAH, YEAH’!”

They double over with laughter, drawing the stares of passersby.

 _Let ‘em look, Blaine thinks. _Let ‘em look and be jealous.__

 

 **2013**

 

Blaine's phone rings as he's walking to class. He sees it's Kurt and scrambles to answer with a breathless, "Hey!"

"Hi! Glad I caught you!"

"I'm heading to class, actually; I'm glad you caught me, too. How’re things?” Blaine asks, dodging a kid walking really fast toward him and resisting the urge to bump him purposely on his way past.

“Insane,” Kurt says loudly; there’s lots of noise on his end. “I’ve seriously spent the last six hours bent over a sewing machine, trying not to listen to this idiotic girl in my group describe her entire life story to another intern.”

“Yikes. Too much information?”

“ _Way_ too much. I definitely did not need to hear the details of how her boyfriend gives her multiple orgasms.”

Blaine has to stop and lean against a wall to really concentrate on laughing hysterically at Kurt’s words and exasperated tone. He can just imagine the expression Kurt was wearing during that particular overheard conversation.

“But, thankfully, she finally stopped when I turned around and asked if she returned the favour. Her tomato-red face was well worth the two hours I had to put up with.”

Blaine seriously can’t breathe. He’s wheezing, clutching his stomach, and ignoring the stares of passing students.

“Oh, I love you,” Blaine says cheerfully, when he can speak again.

“I love you too,” Kurt says with warmth. “Ooh, hang on, gotta order my coffee.”

Blaine waits, continuing down the hallway while listening to Kurt make his complicated order to the cashier.

“Back,” says Kurt’s voice. A few moments later, he adds, quietly and amusedly, “Heh, this barista’s got a tattoo of a giraffe on his arm. I’m tempted to ask the significance, but I have a feeling that way leads madness.”

Blaine chuckles. “My mom had a really long neck; it’s a tribute to her,” he quips.

“I’ve always wanted to tower over everyone and eat leaves from the really high-up, difficult places to reach.”

“It’s such a majestic animal!” Blaine enthuses. “They’ve got such big hearts!”

The sound of Kurt’s loud laughter makes Blaine’s chest feel suddenly tight.

God, he misses Kurt so much. He should have talked to Kurt about his college plans before accepting to attend college in Ohio; there are plenty of schools he could have attended in New York, especially since he’s studying in the education field. The seven months he has left before he can finally join Kurt seem like an awfully long time right now.

“Awww, Blaine. I miss you so much,” Kurt says softly, like he can read Blaine’s mind.

“Not as much as I miss you,” Blaine replies. “Damn, I’m outside my classroom. I gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay, talk to you then. Have a good class.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the dress! Love you.”

“Love _you_ ,” Blaine hears right before he has to hang up.

He turns his phone off and buries it in his pocket, and enters his classroom with a wistful smile.

Seven months. They can do it.

 

 **2014**

 

Blaine hates traveling. With a fiery burning passion, Blaine hates traveling anywhere that requires him to do so in anything other than the confines of his own car.

Five months ago, when he and Kurt first moved in together, the distance from New York to Ohio meant he had the perfect excuse to avoid airplanes altogether. And now that Blaine’s old enough, he can make the conscious choice to stay well away from the parents he has no desire to see, and: bonus! Not travel.

It’s going to be their first shared Christmas without the need for transportation to spend it together, and Blaine’s looking forward to enjoying the holiday quietly, with his boyfriend, no traveling necessary.

Unfortunately, in early November Kurt royally screws those plans up with a head around the door of their living room and one measly sentence.

“My parents want to know when we’re arriving.”

Blaine isn’t even sure what Kurt means, so he says, quite eloquently, “What?”

“For Christmas?” Kurt says. _Duh_ , says his tone of voice.

“For Christmas?” Blaine repeats, mystified. Kurt’s respondent flat, exasperated expression is completely unnecessary. “Kurt. What _about_ Christmas?”

Kurt pulls his head around the corner of the entrance to the living room, and Blaine hears him say, “Dad? I’ll call you back in a few.” Then he walks back into the living room, but he doesn’t sit down. It’s foreboding. He stands there, hands on his hips, clearly ready for a conversation.

“My parents want to know when to expect us for Christmas,” says Kurt. “It’s a pretty straightforward question, so what’s the problem?”

Oh, good. This is Kurt’s modus operandi for how to get what he wants; just make it sound like Blaine’s being difficult on purpose.

“We have not talked about Christmas at all,” Blaine points out. “So you coming in here and asking when we’re showing up at your parents’ place, and not _if_? Not cool. Especially while you’re on the phone with your dad. You framed the question so that I’m cornered into saying yes.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, very maturely. “Ah yes, my nefarious manipulation tactics.”

Blaine sighs. "I’m just _saying_ , you didn’t ask what we’re doing for Christmas; you just waltzed in here with the assumption that we’re going to your parents’. I don’t like feeling tricked into these kinds of discussions. All you had to do was ask, and I probably would have said yes, but at least I would’ve had the option.”

“Okay, let me see if I have this straight,” Kurt says, placing one delicate finger on his chin. “I asked the wrong question, and now you’re getting pissy.”

Blaine’s up and on his feet in a split second. “Oh my _god_! Why can’t you just listen to what I said? Put away the bitch claws for a second and _listen_ \--”

“Bitch claws!? Wow! Nice!” Kurt shouts. “You know what? Don’t play the innocent act, like you’re upset I didn’t ask properly; it’s so fucking passive aggressive! You just hate the idea of spending Christmas with my family, don’t you?”

“No!” Blaine shouts. “That is not what I’m saying! Stop twisting my words!”

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Kurt demands. “You couldn’t have said, ‘The 21st works for me’; you just had to make it into something. You always do!”

“I do not! Don’t exaggerate! I hate traveling - you _know_ I hate traveling, and you didn’t even ask. Just ask next time!”

“No! You know why? Because there won’t be a next time! Fuck this!” He whirls around, stomps to their bedroom and slams the door behind him.

That’s right about when Blaine starts to panic.

They’ve never fought like that before, _never._ Kurt’s probably packing Blaine’s bags right now, and then he’s going to tell Blaine to get lost, and Blaine’ll have to stay at a motel. And then Kurt’s going to forget all about Blaine and find some really attractive boyfriend who models as a hobby and doesn’t make a fuss about traveling, and Blaine’s going to be alone for the rest of his life, replaying this fucking awful fight in his head. Kurt’ll call his dad later on and tell him they’ve broken up, that he’s coming for Christmas alone, and Blaine’ll be by himself for Christmas, and it’ll be his stupid fault because he just had to say something, couldn’t let it slide. He is such an idiot! Such a stupid, idiotic --

The bedroom door opens again, and Blaine flinches, terrified. This is it. Four years undone by plans for Christmas.

Kurt bursts into the room and launches himself at Blaine, burying his head in Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine clutches at Kurt, tears imminent.

He was so scared. His heart’s still racing.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it, I swear,” Kurt whispers frantically, the words coming out watery and rushed together. “It doesn’t matter what we do for Christmas, just – I’m _so sorry_!”

Blaine can’t even get any words out he’s so relieved. He can only cling to Kurt, trembling from the effort he’s making not to break down crying, and push his face into Kurt’s throat.

Finally, Blaine finds the words, “The 21st works for me.”

 

 **2015**

 

“Wow,” Blaine mutters, staring up at the Lima house decked out in every American cliché imaginable.

“Yup, that’s Puck for you,” Kurt says cheerfully, linking arms with Blaine and leading them toward the front door. “All out, or nothing.”

Kurt rings the doorbell, and a few moments later the door swings open to reveal Puck himself, with whom Blaine has had the briefest of introductions before.

“Yo, homo!” Puck greets with a wolfish smile, yanking Kurt into an ultra-manly, backslap hug.

“Hey dumbass!” Kurt says, pulling away with a fond smile on his face. “The house looks ridiculous!”

“So does your outfit,” Puck shoots back, entering the house and letting Kurt and Blaine inside before closing the door behind them.

“Oh, bitch, you did _not_!” Kurt snaps with sass, playing up the stereotypical gay part with scary precision. “I will cut you!”

“With what? Your nails?”

“Yeah, I’ll use them to gouge out your eyes.”

“That’d get ‘em dirty, though. Then you’d faint.”

“You’d have no _eyes_ , Pool Boy! You’d be dead! But don’t worry; I’ll find you a lovely suit for your funeral. You’ll be buried in Armani.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Puck says, grinning and leading the way through his mother’s house to the kitchen where the French windows are open on a nice-looking backyard, where shouts and laughter can be heard but the source of them still unseen.

Blaine’s so taken aback by the insult-fest he’s just witnessed that he doesn’t even register the enormous American flag on the clothesline for at least several seconds.

“Puck, you remember Blaine?” Kurt asks.

Puck’s head is buried in the fridge, but he emerges with three beers, keeping one for himself and passing the other two to Kurt and Blaine. “Of course!” Puck crows. “Blaine, my man, how are ya?” He shakes Blaine’s hand firmly.

Blaine’s a fair bit surprised by the enthusiastic greeting. “Uh, I’m good. How are you?”

“Not nearly drunk enough! But I’m working on it. Come on outside, you two, we’ve been waiting.”

Blaine widens his eyes at Kurt as they step out into the bright sun splaying the backyard with warmth. Kurt chuckles and takes Blaine’s hand, leading the way toward a cluster of people sitting in chairs around a table on the back patio.

Blaine feels oddly nervous. He’s met Kurt’s high school friends before, of course; he came as Kurt’s prom date the year after he graduated, some time after Kurt had transferred back to McKinley. He has, at some point, been introduced to every former member of New Directions, but he’s never experienced them together as a group; even prom had been relatively split up.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought, however, because as soon as the three of them have reached the table, Kurt’s old friends are on their feet and embracing Kurt with cries of excited greeting. They’re shouting over each other, grinning broadly, and even though Blaine feels like the odd man out, it warms his heart to see Kurt so appreciated here.

He watches from a distance until Mercedes sidles over. “Hi Blaine,” she says politely, hugging him. He’s always gotten the impression she doesn’t really like him that much, but she’s being pretty friendly, so he returns the hug happily.

“Mercedes,” he says into her shoulder. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“For sure,” she agrees, pulling out of the hug and smiling kindly. "I'll have to come visit you guys soon."

"Definitely," Blaine grins.

Tina’s up next. She’s always been wonderfully bright toward him, and this time is no different; she tackles him fiercely. “BLAINE!” she shouts. “How are you? Happy 4th!”

“Happy 4th to you! I’m great, how are you, hon?”

“Oh, I’m great, too! You look _fantastic_. It’s thanks to all the sex, am I right?” she jokes, laughing outright.

Blaine flushes deeply. He takes a sip of his beer.

Wow.

Finn makes his way over, clasping Blaine’s shoulder. “Good to see you, man. How you holding up?”

“Pretty good, man,” he replies, trying not to smirk in amusement; Finn's such a _dude_. “You?”

“Good, good. I see you’ve got a beer; that’s the spirit!”

Blaine laughs, and proceeds to greet Kurt’s other friends, ones he doesn’t know as well as Mercedes and Tina and Finn, with more subdued handshakes and hugs.

Eventually they’re allowed to sit down with the group. Kurt answers their rapid-fire questions with brimming energy. He looks so happy to be here with these people; Blaine knows it’s been nearly five years since they’ve all gotten together like this, so it makes perfect sense.

It’s a treat to see, Blaine decides. He's already starting to feel more comfortable with this group of people who, by any outsider's standards, wouldn’t appear to click as amazingly as they do.

When they start singing, taking turns at solos and duets, Blaine watches in wonderment and can’t help but wish he’d known these people in high school; had gone to school with these really interesting, fun people.

If he had, maybe it would have been a much more endurable experience.

-

“So, gay boys,” Santana chirps once they’ve all settled down to eat, most of the attendants thoroughly on their respective ways to being decidedly drunk. “When’s the wedding? It’s legal in Ohio now, so you have no excuse!”

Blaine chokes on his burger. Finn claps him on the back with an amused grin.

Santana has such a way with words!

Kurt looks completely unaffected. “Santana, just because we _can_ get married doesn’t mean we have to.”

“Kurt Hummel!” Rachel cries from across the table, tossing a roll at him with so much strength it bounces right off Kurt’s forehead. “My dads would have killed to have that right when they were your age. If you and Blaine are forever, you owe them, and all the couples who have fought for your right to marry the person you love, to make that commitment, you absolute ignoramus!”

Everyone at the table openly stares at Rachel, who looks shocked at her own audacity, at her sudden outburst, and quickly casts her gaze to her plate. There’s a long moment of extremely uncomfortable silence, and then Brittany asks, “Is it legal to marry my cat yet?”

-

Blaine’s driving as they head toward their hotel in downtown Lima. Kurt’s a bit past tipsy, but he’s not prattling on like he usually does when he’s had a few celebratory drinks. The radio’s playing softly in the background, but there’s an unexplained silence between them that’s thick enough to make custard cream.

About ten minutes into the drive, Kurt turns the radio off.

Blaine glances over where Kurt’s slumped in his seat. He looks... almost dejected.

“Hey. You okay?” Maybe Kurt has a headache?

“Do you think Rachel was right?” he asks. “That we owe them something?”

Blaine does not have to search for the thread of conversation; he’s been thinking about that moment for hours.

He expels a breath. “No, I don’t think that. I don’t think we _have_ to get married to honour other gay couples’ hard work. We were part of that struggle, too.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, which is good because it gives Blaine the courage to say the rest of what he’s been thinking about non-stop all evening.

“I wouldn’t want to get married simply because we can, or out of some ethic obligation, or what have you.” He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his ears, like a dull roar. He swallows. “But I do want to marry you.”

More silence. More heavy, terrifying silence.

Then Kurt says, so quietly Blaine almost misses it –- but there's _no fucking way_ Blaine’s missing it; he's listening so intently –- “I want to marry you, too,” and reaches across the divide between them to cover Blaine’s closest hand.

Blaine releases his grip on the steering wheel and, utterly relieved, laces their fingers together, smiling tearfully at Kurt.

His fiancé?

His fiancé!

 

 **2016**

 

Mercedes clinks her glass with her fork and gets determinedly to her feet. The happy chatter and laughter dies down as people turn to the wedding party at the front of the hall. Mercedes smiles out at the crowd and then turns that beautiful smile on Kurt and Blaine, who are seated with their hands clasped on the table, wearing complementary tuxedos and utterly content grins.

“I’m not that great at public speaking,” Mercedes starts, “but my boy Kurt was very, very insistent that I give a maid of honour speech. And he has a point; I have known Kurt since we were sixteen, and I can safely say he’s my best friend. I flatter myself that he feels the same way.”

Kurt lifts his glass in agreement.

“Besides, you can’t fight with a diva on his wedding day!”

The combined representation of Kurt and Blaine's family and friends all laugh together.

“I first met Kurt when we were in our high school Glee club together. I’ll risk my own embarrassment and admit I had a huge crush on him." Laughter rings out. “Can you blame me? He’s cute and nice and he has always had the most fabulous wardrobe of anyone in the room. A girl’s dream.”

More laughter. Kurt lifts his glass again with amused giggles. Blaine just grins; he hasn't been able to get rid himself of it since he said his vows.

“But,” Mercedes says, and the laughter disperses, “after a run-in with Kurt’s car, my feelings for him broke along with his windshield, and from that moment on we were besties. He became the greatest friend I’ve ever known. And I have lots of great friends!”

More smiles and laughter. Mercedes takes a sip from her wine glass and continues.

“Then Blaine came along. I’ll be honest: I wasn’t a fan at first. Not like Kurt was, that’s for sure. You see, Blaine was, in my young mind, the enemy. As far as I was concerned, he was whisking my boy away, and I didn’t trust him at all.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence while Mercedes takes another sip of wine.

“I can tell you the exact moment that changed. It was also the moment I realized Blaine was perfect for Kurt. It was last year. Kurt and Blaine had found an apartment together and they were living in New York City. I drove up from L.A. to visit them for a week, but, to be honest, I felt like I was really visiting Kurt. So one morning, Kurt had left for work at the crack of dawn, and I was wondering how awkward it was going to be to spend the day with Blaine without Kurt as - as a buffer, a go-between. I was brewing coffee in the kitchen, and I started singing Beyoncé – my usual morning routine – and out of the blue, Blaine walked into the kitchen and started singing along. We cooked breakfast together and worked our way through her discography that morning.”

Blaine’s smile is enormous. He remembers the moment well. Kurt, on his left, is grinning at his best friend, and then at Blaine, in a lopsided sort of way.

“I decided then and there,” Mercedes declares, “that Blaine and Kurt were meant to be.”

Kurt and Blaine share a long, significant look as Mercedes lets the poignant silence hang for a moment.

“Boys,” she says with a fond smile, giving them her full attention. “I’m gonna finish this speech the only way that’s really fitting.” She takes another sip of wine, puts the glass down on the table and spreads her arms wide.

“I hope life treats you kind,” she sings, “and I hope you have all you dreamed of. And I wish you joy and happiness! But above ALL this, I wish you love!”

Her voice reaches to every corner of the room, and then there are sighs and cheers and applause, and above the din, Mercedes lifts her glass a final time and shouts, “TO KLAINE!”

“KLAINE!” the crowd shouts in unison, and they toast and cheer for the newly married couple, who smile around at their loving community.

Blaine feels fairly incoherent with happiness. It's just too good to be true.

 

 **2017**

 

“What do you think the point is of packing ground beef into such tiny little containers?” Blaine wonders aloud, picking up a small tray and brandishing it in Kurt’s direction for emphasis. “Who eats this small an amount? Elves?”

“Definitely elves,” Kurt mumbles distractedly, squeezing a pear to verify ripeness across the aisle. Blaine still doesn’t understand how the fruit and veggies have been arranged so close to the meat sections, but whatever.

“I guess this one’s for an elf party,” Blaine mutters, picking up a slightly larger container.

“Mr Anderson! Hi!”

Blaine turns to find a student from one of the math classes he substitutes for standing a few steps away. Henrietta, he remembers.

“Henrietta! How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

Blaine smiles. “Debating the sense of such tiny portions,” he says, holding up the aforementioned ground beef.

“I see. I’m picking up some things for my mom for dinner,” she says by way of explanation, shaking a slip of paper in her hand; undoubtedly a list.

“Well, that’s nice of you. I’m sure there’re plenty of teenagers who wouldn’t do that for their parents.”

“Well,” she says wryly, “if I want dinner, that’s what I gotta do.”

“Of course,” he grins.

“Hey, d’you want to get some mango? It’s not the season, but I really feel like mango!” Kurt’s voice cuts in.

Blaine turns to his husband to see him stop abruptly.

“Hello!” he greets Henrietta politely.

“Hi!” she says with an equally polite smile.

“Kurt, this is Henrietta,” Blaine says, gesturing, “She’s in the math class I sub for sometimes. Henrietta, this is Kurt.” He doesn’t say ‘my husband'. He’s not entirely sure why. “Henrietta’s one of the brightest students in the class,” he adds.

“Oh! Good job!”

She blushes. “I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, please, you’re an excellent student,” Blaine insists. “You always listen, and you volunteer answers.”

“Well,” she says, grinning, “I guess it’s ‘cause you’re such a good teacher. You make the subject interesting. I wish you could be our permanent teacher.”

“Extra credit for you! Oop, probably shouldn’t say that too loud. I could get in trouble!”

She giggles. “I won’t say a word!”

There’s an awkward silence. “Nice purse!” Kurt says.

“Oh, thanks!” she gushes. “Got it in-season, which practically never happens. I’m always late.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Kurt says kindly.

She smiles, and she looks between them, expression thoughtful. “Well," she says, "I’ll leave you to it. Gotta get those groceries for my mom. See you soon, I hope.”

“Someone’s got to get sick first,” Blaine jokes.

“I’ll cross my fingers,” she says, doing so. “Nice to see you, Mr Anderson. And nice to meet you!” she adds, smiling at Kurt.

“You too.”

“Take care, sweetie,” Blaine calls, waving. She waves back, and then she walks away, ponytail swinging.

“She was nice,” Kurt says, putting his mango in the basket Blaine’s carrying. “I expect most students just pretend they haven’t seen their teachers. Although, Henrietta? I didn’t realize people still named their kids after Jane Austen characters.”

“ _I_ didn’t realize you’d actually read Jane Austen,” Blaine snarks, finally selecting a tray of ground beef at random and sticking it in amongst the eggs, milk, bread and mango.

“Uh, hello? Mr Darcy? Captain Wentworth? I used to fantasize about one or both of them carrying me off into the sunset.”

“Both?” Blaine gasps. “ _Two_ men? How selfish!”

Kurt laughs and guides the two of them toward the cheese section. “Hey, stop worrying,” he says when he’s chosen a delicious-looking brie, put it in the basket, and gotten a good look at Blaine. “This isn’t 1970; you don’t have to worry about getting fired for being gay anymore.”

“I’m not worried,” Blaine scoffs.

“You’re picking at your thumb. You’re worried.”

Blaine stops picking at his thumb. “I’m sure she won’t say anything.”

“Even if she does,” Kurt says gently, tugging Blaine through a quieter grocery aisle, “you’re not in Ohio State anymore. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah."

“Oh, I see a cherry pie with our names on it,” Kurt announces, plucking a box off a shelf and holding it out.

Blaine takes it.

“Pie,” Kurt sighs, looking at it fondly.

“Uh oh. I guess I'll be sending out a mass-email to all your coworkers informing them of your love affair with pie,” Blaine teases.

“Ooh, guess you won’t be getting any pie, then,” Kurt shoots back with a smirk. “More for me!”

Blaine catches himself picking at the hangnail on his thumb five times on the drive home.

-

He actually forgets about the grocery store incident until, a month later, he’s subbing for a few weeks while Ms Feldman’s recovering from a hernia repair surgery.

“Mr Anderson?” Jill calls from the back of the room, her hand high in the air.

“Yes, Jill?”

“Are you married?”

Blaine hesitates for two seconds. “Yes.”

“Told you!” Jill cries triumphantly.

“Aw, geez,” her workmate, Alex, mutters beside her.

“How long have you been married for?” Catherine asks from another group.

“About a year,” he replies, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he feels with the topic at hand.

“Awww!” coo a fair number of students, all of them female.

“Was it a big wedding?”

“How long have you been together for?”

“What’s her name?”

“Okaaay, we’re doing math, folks,” Blaine says, raising his voice to speak over the noise. The chatter and questions quiet down immediately, and his students go back to doing their work.

Blaine looks around, checking to see that everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing, and not texting or doing something else un-math-related. He catches Henrietta’s eye from where she’s sitting with her group near the front of the class.

She gives him a sweet, knowing smile and turns determinedly back to her work.

Blaine really has to wonder why he was ever worried in the first place.

 

 **2018**

 

During Kurt’s one-week summer vacation, they don’t leave the house once. Instead of going out, they use their free time to sleep in and watch back-to-back episodes of Buffy, wrapped around each other on their insanely comfortable couch.

They use one afternoon, when the sun’s high in the sky and beating down on them, to spread out in their backyard, exchanging lazy kisses. Things heat up quickly, and it's not long before Blaine’s on his hands and knees, Kurt shoving into him deep and hard and wrenching harsh cries from Blaine’s throat.

Blaine has to hold tight to the grass beneath him to remain in place, rocking forward each time Kurt thrusts. Kurt’s hand is like a vice around his dick, and he strips it fast, so expertly that Blaine comes with a loud shot of his husband’s name. He realizes, rather belatedly, that their neighbours certainly won't have missed the unmistakable sounds of _that gay couple_ fucking in the backyard, and considering what a nice day it is it’s pretty likely there are at least a few people outside.

“Bastard,” Blaine gasps, shivering as Kurt comes inside him with a deep groan.

Kurt giggles uncontrollably while he pulls out, and then he lies down to spoon Blaine from behind, hand playfully exploring the hair on Blaine’s chest. “Nuh-uh, my parents were married,” Kurt quips, but with, Blaine’s happy to note, an equally scant amount of breath.

Kurt’s time off is seriously Blaine’s favourite time of year. Fuck Christmas and birthdays; nothing gets Kurt riled up like a week with nothing to do except Blaine.

 

 _2019_

 

“Blaine!”

The loud shout is accompanied by a loud slam of the front door, and Blaine, folding laundry upstairs, jumps and drops the sweater he’s holding with a muffled curse.

“Yeah?” he calls back.

“Get down here! Hurry!”

Blaine scrambles down the staircase. “What is it?” he asks, perplexed.

Kurt’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh my god. Oh my GOD!”

“ _What_?”

“Okay, so, I overheard an intern, Kelly, talking to another intern today, and she happened to mention that she just found out she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t know what to do, but she doesn’t want to have an abortion so she was thinking about putting the baby up for adoption, and I overheard, and I asked if - if she'd think about giving the baby to _us_ , and she said she’d be delighted to give us her baby!”

The words come out so quickly and without even a pause for breath (or thought, in Blaine’s case), that Blaine takes an actual step back. “Whoa,” he mutters.

“A baby. A baby we can adopt,” Kurt enunciates carefully.

Blaine’s pretty sure his heart’s stopped. “You’re kidding!”

“No! I said I’d talk to you and let her know!”

“What? Yes!” Blaine yells. “Ohmygod, what are you - _yes_! Call her right now and tell her yes!”

Kurt's smile is dazzling. He backs Blaine into the wall, arms going securely around Blaine's waist.

“A baby?” Blaine says, and his voice cracks on the second word.

“A baby,” Kurt repeats, sounding just as choked up.

Blaine wraps his arms around his favourite person in the world and holds him tight.

“A baby,” he echoes, awed beyond belief

 

 **2020**

 

“I know it’s hard, baby,” says Blaine, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, I’m totally fine, I'm _fine_.”

Kurt picks up the pen on the desk in a resolute sort of way and scrawls his signature on the dotted line. Blaine holds his breath, and he’s absolutely certain Kurt’s doing the same.

Kurt slams the pen down on the mahogany. "It's done,” he says gravely.

Blaine almost can’t believe Kurt’s just signed his Lexus over to a couple in their neighbourhood. He’s actually, willingly given away what he’s referred to as his baby for over three years.

"I need a drink," Kurt says morosely.

Blaine bites his lip on a smile. Only Kurt could make the parting from a car seem like a deeply significant moment in his life, and, on top of that, manage to convince Blaine of its significance.

 

\---

 

“What’s this, Daddy?” Olivia squeals, scrambling up on to the desk chair in Kurt’s office to get a better look at the half-finished dress Kurt’s been working on for three and a half weeks. The problem is, she’s got one hand around a cup of juice, and she’s _trying to climb on to the desk chair_ with _a full cup of juice_.

“Olivia!” he calls, throwing a hand out uselessly from his spot just inside the door. “Stop!”

His shout is what does it. Olivia looks up in surprise and wobbles on the chair on unsteady feet, and then the glass of juice is no longer in her hand, but instead splashed all over the piece Kurt’s been working on _for three and half weeks_.

Kurt whimpers and claps his hand over his eyes in the hope that, when he looks again, the whole thing will have been a ridiculous imaginary scenario.

When he looks up and sees Olivia standing over the mess and looking every inch that little-girl shock he’s seen several times before, his mouth falls open on a silent scream of anger.

Without further ado, he backs right out of the office, marches down the staircase and bursts out on to front porch, letting the door bang shut behind him.

That's when he lets himself vocalize his frustration.

He’s abruptly flooded by a memory of spilling milk all over his dad’s worktable when he was seven, and how sad he'd been when his did had scolded him for it. Obviously, Kurt still remembers it; he doesn’t want to lose his temper completely, no matter how much he’s trying not to burst into tears over the completely ruined dress he’s been sewing -- and it was supposed to be _Dakota Fanning’s Oscar gown_!

Kurt inhales and exhales sharply for several long moments before he’s got himself under control, and then he turns around and heads right back into the house and up the stairs.

It’s his own damn fault for leaving it there in the first place.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he finds that his daughter has gone to get paper towels, and is trying to mop up the accidental mess with no luck whatsoever. The sight is touching and adorable.

“Sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” he says softly. “Come downstairs with me, okay?”

Olivia looks up, her bottom lip trembling, and slowly lowers herself to the ground. She walks toward him with her head bowed, and when she’s reached him, Kurt grabs her up, secures her to one hip and descends the staircase carefully.

He deposits her on his lap once he’s seated on the couch.

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” she gasps in a watery voice. “I – I made a big mess, and now you’re sad.”

“Baby, it’s okay,” Kurt replies, even though it is so, _so_ not okay. “You didn’t mean to. Accidents happen.” He squeezes her and smiles. “Wanna watch Sound of Music?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, plopping her head on to his shoulder.

Kurt turns on the television and the DVD player with the respective remotes. _The Sound of Music_ has been their go-to movie for several weeks now; it’s always in there because they never watch anything else.

For now, anyway. Next month it’ll be a different musical.

Pretty soon she’s humming along and singing the few words she knows, the dress mess forgotten, and for a while Kurt forgets about it, too.

A good ways through the movie, around eight o'clock, Blaine walks into the house, home from meeting with anxious parents; meetings designed to discuss their children’s academic success (or lack thereof, Blaine had joked before he'd left). Olivia’s asleep on his shoulder when Blaine enters the room, and Kurt’s sniffling, as he always does, at Maria’s rendez-vous with the children and, as always, marvelling at her beautiful green dress.

“Hey,” Blaine whispers.

“Hey,” Kurt whispers back. Blaine sits down beside him and pushes Olivia’s silky dark bangs off her forehead, leaning forward to plant a warm kiss on Kurt’s mouth. Kurt hums into it.

“How’d it go?” Blaine rumbles. His stubble feels perfect on Kurt's face.

Kurt considers the question. Apart from the spoiled dress...

“It went fine,” Kurt says.

He’ll just have to make sure, from now on, that Olivia stays far, far away from his office.

At least until she’s too big to climb on desk chairs.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Mercedes sings at Kurt and Blaine's after-wedding party (which was fucking fabulous) is, of course, Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You'. The title of this fic is also from that song.


End file.
